Follow me on Twitter and drown in my "pointless babbles" and chats: DanaDaDiva





***********************************
I smell like antibiotics. I guess I'm off limits today. Eugh.

I bet most of you didn’t have me down as a cursing type of person. Perhaps, five years ago I would have given you a high-five. But trust me, right now I’ve got a potty mouth like a British football hooligan whose team is about to lose. Thing is, I just don’t display it for the entire world to hear. I mean definitely not in front of my parents and/or mates who I respect highly. LOL. But let me tell you something… Everyday, around 11:45 in the morning, curses in different languages slip out of my mad mouth uncontrollably. It’s hysterical! I’m actually quite surprised with myself that I’m filthily curse-fluent. As to the why 11:45 in the morning? I’m gonna keep mum about it for now. Don’t get all crazy with your guesses, yea?

If you wanna hear me in all my smutty glory, make sure to hang out with me when I’m (1) playing football on the field; (2) on my laptop procrastinating on paperwork; (3) driving for more than five minutes; and (4) doing “it-that-must-not-be-named-for-now” around 11:45 AM. SAH-LUDDD!

***********************************
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shittification. Shit.

15 oral reprimands. 2 calls to the Prefect’s office. 6 poor people who cried their eyes out. 4 shattered lives.

The venom that was Dana Valencia. The venom that was me.

I don’t exactly call myself a bully. Hell, I didn’t have any reason to hate. I didn’t have any “scars” or whatever shit “damaged” people have gone through in their distinct morbid pasts. Hell, I am not weak. I am sure I wouldn’t end up like one of those wretched people who cut their wrists, smoke like a fucking human chimney, and wrap themselves in black faking the slurring talk.

They say that things happen for a reason. Dark things happen for just as a dark reason. People hurt themselves for a dark reason, take drugs for a dark reason, drink until their livers give up for a dark reason, and make other people feel like shit for a dark reason.

I don’t really have a dark reason. At least, that is what I believe.

But I admit that I might be mad for being callous to other people’s pain. I might be mad for being a tad too interested in other people’s weaknesses.

“You are a very dangerous one, Dana Valencia,” a friend once told me. If it weren’t for her chuckling three seconds after, my heart would have stopped beating and I’d die right then and there for the bluntness of her words. There was a noticeable tinge of bitterness in her voice that she resiliently tried to suppress and the bitter taste crept along my spine up to my deadened brain. Flashbacks then plunged into my mind like spiteful daggers thrown mercilessly. It’s true; I had been a ruthless bitch. Many, many times before.

And as much as I try to hide guilt from everything and everyone I’ve fucked up, and as much as I would love to move on and breathe in an untroubled life as a harmless, nontoxic human being, the thought that I am indeed a “living venom” crashes upon me like an unforgiving reality.

The venom that was is Dana Valencia. The venom that was is me.

For some stupid and unexpected reason, I am held responsible for other people’s lives. So that entitles me of causing them enough pain, even shattering them to pieces, and this is what frightens me the most. If I started to care, if I started to hold onto them, if I started to share my life with them, I have also begun to contaminate them that might also possibly destroy them in the end. I don’t know what people should call me. A Patron tequila shot? A conspirator? A parasite? A vampire, perhaps? I haven’t got any idea but I’m akin to all of those treacherous things. Once I’ve discovered your weak spot, I will go pacing around that and if I fancy attacking you, I would use it shamelessly against you. It’s alarming, even for me. And this is exactly why I refuse to be in a fucking intense linkage with any breathing creature. I might as well sleep with a pillow or talk to a brick wall. That way, there’s no “hurting the other one” involved.

The venom that was is will always be Dana Valencia. The venom that was is will always be me.

************************************************

You have been warned.

A real friend… Really, how can you tell? Well, I happen to know. You are a “real friend” of mine if you…

• Know that I eat like I have Prader-Willi Syndrome and it’s not an enigma for you how I manage to stay in shape exactly;

• Know that I fancy wearing long-sleeves but that’s certainly NOT because I have heroin injections or slutty tattoos all over my arms;

• Have seen me in my knickers (VS Pink undies!) which I sleep in and sometimes walk around my bedroom (which is BTW called the “Tangerine Room”) in;

• Know that I’m secretly in love with James Taylor and his brilliant plucking skills;

• Know what ghastly transformation I've gone through: From Korean -> Thai -> Canadian -> Japanese (particularly from Okinawa) -> Hippie -> Taiwanese -> Am-Girl -> Na’vi -> Blondeonite! Thank god, I’ve never been called a Neanderthal;

• Know that I was once a sarcastic biotch slash bully who practices emotional terrorism;

• Have seen me pointless

• … and drunk;

• Have seen me with a fag in my mouth but, really, you know very well that I DON'T EFFING DO CIGARETTES;

• Know I'm an ‘only daughter’ and sandwiched in the family tree by a couple of barmy, nosy brahs;

• Know that I can't live without noodles (ramen in particular);

• Know that I have a serious case of ADHD and you bloody know just how to handle me;

• Believe that deep inside I'm quite a good person (with an orange halo!) though I usually (and deliberately) give off a snobbish or biotchy impression;

• Know when it's time to stop handing me vodka shots (the heavy yet elated scarlet eyes, the “conyo” talk, and the purring sound!);

• Are able to tolerate my moods but I'm just always soooo effing energetic and loquacious (which exhausts you most of the time);

• Know which outrageous song I will sing first on karaoke;

• Know what instrument I will grab first during RockBand gigathons;

• Have found out that I'm best with friendly-fires (Shows what kind of mate I really am, eh?);

• Know when smth's wrong with me (that is sometimes toooo obvious);

• Automatically assume that I prolly won't reply to your text messages because I simply hate texting;

• Know that every so often I’m weird so I'd talk about how different the sky’s shades of blue are compared to yesterday;

• Know that I can’t sleep without a tad of luminosity and a comfy duvet, and I snore;

• Know that I turn into an effing schizo – talking to myself or to my laptop during paper crammings;

• Have seen me at my worst (probably when I have an incredibly runny nose or my puffy eyes without the eyeliner);

• Know my most disgusting habits like munching on dead skin cells around my fingernails;

• Have seen some of my old artworks as I don't really swank about them much now;

• Know when I'm full of bullshit or not;

• Know how to pacify me when I'm out of control;

• Know what frightens me the most (i.e. men wearing huge black gas masks who look like mad terrorists or lunatic Anthrax-slayers or just plain psychos);

• Know when to slap me;

• Know when to give me a hug.

Now, let’s re-evaluate our relationship here. Are you truly a real friend of mine? If you are then CONGRATULATIONS! You’ve survived one nightmare of a friendship.

***********************************

***********************************
Crushed. Crushed. Crushed.

Whilst first impressions can be formed within the initial eleven seconds, they can also shatter in the next eleven.

What bugs me the most are people who judge others hastily. It’s like you can’t even defend yourself and disprove them ‘coz the second they get curbed, they shut you out completely.

Snobbish, stuck-up little bitch – this is what has been repeatedly said to me. Bollocks. Complete and utter bollocks. It may be my thick eyeliner or the way my eyes squint when I look at other people. It may be my frosty, almost husky voice or the blasé way I talk to other people. Show them a tat or put a cigarette stick between my fingers and I might give people within ten metres of me constant panic or even a heart attack. But that’s not even me.

Thing is, people form opinions about me way too early. Thoughtlessly, even. Because, seriously, try spending a couple of minutes with me and you’ll see. Get to know me and you might just feel motivated to write my biography. I’m not swanking or anything but I’m telling you matter-of-factly, you’ll ultimately love me.

I am playful. Full of beans. Incredibly naughty. I love teasing as much as I love munching on Dairy Queen Chocolate Almond Blizzard almond bits. I like having fun. I like making fun of people. But it’s a cute way of having fun and a cute way of making fun of people.

I may assume a role of having to quench moments of silence but I am a good listener too (or at least I think I am) if I choose to. I can spend all day talking about anything under the sun even debating about fonts, “Baby Boys”, and the wonders of cellphone recycling. That random. I wouldn’t mind wasting time getting to know a person.

Having said that, I love talking about your life as much as I love blabbing about mine. I ask a lot of questions too. And a lot more follow-up queries. Oh and, dear, I won’t stop ‘til you raise the white flag and call it a day.

That’s about it about me. Love me or hate me, I guess.

********************************************